Chapter 3

"ISN'T CHET THE FINE FELLOW NOW, TO HELP US AS HE HAS?", Bill shouted.  He had finally gotten Dan to listen to the story.

"Hell, Bill!  You've gone daffy in your old age or you wouldn't trust that dam-maniac.  I don't trust nobody no more.  If he put money out on that worthless land, it's because he is fool enough to think it'll be worth something sometime.  He figures our loss will be his gain.  No sir, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw a bull by the tail.  I figure you've lost your land too, if not to the county, then to him.  And yours is closer to town and to the river and might be irrigated.  It's too bad; I feel sorry for you, and I warn you to watch that Chet Evans...  and everybody else."

Dan, your suspicious as my old maid aunt.  You're like all dumb down-and-out critters; you'd bite the hand that was trying to feed you. I remember when I was a boy.... one cold, stormy winter day I found a yearling calf that had been lost from the herd perhaps for weeks.  It had been without food or water, just living on straw and snow until it was too weak to get up when it was down.  I helped to get it up and rubbed its legs to the blood moving and steadied it on its feet.  But when I tried to show it the way home to feed and shelter, the batty thing used all its strength to chase after me and fight me.  And it did knock me down on that frozen ground after I had done all I could for it.  You're just like that locoed, starved calf.  But maybe it isn't your fault.  You've been alone way to long.  You've had too much grief.  But maybe I'll be able to get you to home and shelter yet if I'm careful.  You've worked too long and worried too much over the sheep.  You need to relax and forget."

Bill stopped suddenly and pointed.  "But what does this sign here mean?"  On a stake set in the sand was an arrow with "Riverside Drive" painted on it.  They followed the direction indicated by the arrow and noticed that work had been done with a tractor and road grader, a gutter had been made on each side with a ridge of sod and sagebrush left in the center.  "I'll be damned, we've been walking down Riverside Drive.  Sounds citified... but where's the city?"

As they walked a little farther, they came to another sign and arrow, pointing at right angles to their progress up Riverside Drive.  This one said "Mackinaw Ridge".  The whole valley was plotted and laid out in streets and blocks.  They were nearing the center now and could see signs in every direction.

Near the center of the townsite a small cluster of frame buildings had sprung up.  As the pair approached, they saw hundreds of cars parked, and a great crowd swarming around a man on a raised platform.  He had some kind of map tacked to an up-ended table in front of him.  Dan and Bill reached the edge of the crowd and tried to push their way in so they could see and hear what was going on, but it was impossible.  They were getting tired of tiptoeing and stretching their necks when Dan spied a familiar face.  It was John Clark.

"John, tell us what's going on here.  What is that soapbox operator spieling about?"

"It's an auction sale.  Two smart California real estate auctioneers have been hired to sell the new Rock Island Townsite, and they sure are doing a bang-up job of it.  I stayed out of school just to see the excitement.  They've done some advertising, and marked off the streets as you see, and posted lot and block numbers.  A buyer can pick out the lot he wants and bid on it when it comes up.  They're using the large map to make it clear which ones they're selling.  See that corner lot there on the highway?  The corner of Main and Riverside Drive?  It sold for $750.00, and that's not the only one to go that high.  They sure have been doing a land office business."

"These poor suckers!" Dan said.  "Why would anyone give such prices for a corner lot of worthless sand and gravel?  My land there up on that hill isn't worth two bits an acre, and damn fools are paying thousands of dollars per acre and for land not half as good."

"Yes, but it will be near the center, the heart of Power City.  They told us that representatives of several factories have already been here looking for sites and locations on the river, railroads and highways.  That's why it's valuable.  They say we'll soon have saw mills, paper mills, woolen mills and factories.  The clay in that hill is good for pottery, brick, or tile, and there's also some aluminum ore.  One of the men said that people could buy lots and build here near the work at the dam.  That means they won't have to pay rent or transportation to and from neighboring towns.  They think it will take about five years to complete the dam.  Residents here will be the ones the closest to the work and they'll get the jobs on the dam and have their homes paid for in no time.  They're selling the lots for a small down payment, and there's a lumber company that's selling lumber on time.  It's the easiest place in the world for poor people to get a home that will increase in value by leaps and bounds as the factories come and the town grows.

"Yea," Dan grunted, "you can believe as much of that boloney and buy as many lots as you want to.  But you make me sick by even repeating, let alone believing, such lies.  I want to tell you that you're fired.  You're not tending camp for me any more.  Do you understand that?"

"Come now, Dan," Bill pleaded, "don't be so caustic to the boy for giving a civil answer to your question.  John, he ain't telling you the whole story.  He ain't got no use for a camp tender, because he hasn't any camp, or sheep either.  That's just his polite way of telling you so.  Poor old Doleful Dan.  Chester Evans saved his land, and mine too, from sale for delinquent taxes, and he couldn't even be civil to Chet, let alone thank him."

He turned to Dan.  "Come on," he said, "let's be going home.  Two land auctions in one day is too much for me.  This is the biggest, most exciting day I've had since the Indian uprisin'.  Lets go home and eat and rest.  We'll have lots of time to watch those newcomers later.  I heard at the county seat today that they're the scum of the earth.  The flotsam and jetsam of the world drifted here on the banks of the Columbia to make a dam or live off the dammers.  I supposed they'd use concrete and steel instead of flotsam and jetsam.  Dan, I'm going home and you're going home with me.  So long, John.  Don't buy any rocky lots.  I'll sell you an acre for $12.34."

"So long, Bill and Dan!  Hang on to your land, if you can, and you'll both be rich one day."

Dan slept a restless sleep that night.  Bill lived too near the damned dam, he swore.  The night was full of vibrations and reverberations, echoes and re-echoes, the incessant clatter and rattle of the rocks, the mighty chugging, lugging and panting of the monstrous shovels as they gored into the banks with their huge dippers.  They were loading mammoth trucks with only three scoops, while they roared back and forth clock-like, extending new grade for roadways and railroads.

Jack hammers hammered, rattled, hissed, and blew.  Hard steel driven by compressed air was gnawing, biting deep holes in solid rock.  The donkey engines, with bells ringing, whistled and shrieked, and brakes screeched as the engines slid about loading and unloading huge timbers, pieces of steel, or power shovels.

Now and again it was time to fire large shots of dynamite.  Then a frantic whistle would break out in a series of short shrieks, saying, Fire.. Fire.. Fire.. Fire, after which all was silent, except for the clatter of feet.  The other men on the job dropped their work to scurry for shelter.  They crawled under machinery, under overhanging rocks, or into any available safe spot to wait.  Everywhere was dead silence and breathless expectancy.  Then arose a mighty rumble.  Crash!  ROAR! The whole earth shook, followed by the rattling, crushing, tearing, and sliding of boulders and rocks; then a shower of broken bits of rock came hailing down for a good half mile around.  Another short blast of the whistle told the men it was all over and sent them running back to work.  This process was repeated all through the day and night.

Men accustomed to such noises, and tired out with hard work were not disturbed, but not Dan in his nervous, worried condition.

After a meager breakfast.. meager since Bill was low on provisions.. the two of them sauntered forth and down the hill to the highway.  Cars of all kinds were zipping, rattling, roaring by.  Most of them were full to the last seat with roughly dressed workmen.. men in carpenters' overalls, coveralls, and mechanics' caps.  There was one distinguishing mark on all.  Proudly displayed on their coat lapels or cap beaks were their identification badges.. their convict number, as they jokingly called it.  Would the procession never cease?

Dan had never seen so many cars and men at such close range.  It was more than he had ever seen going to the county fair in the good old days when wheat was king.  They had to keep well to the side of the road.. often in the ditches and up the banks..  to save themselves from being run over as the faster cars honked and tooted and passed slow Model T's.

On topping a slight rise, they passed by two or three blocks that might have been cut out from the residential section of any typical Western boom town.  They came in sight of a large crowd of men in front of a frame building.  The building faced the highway and was in the corner of a broad picked-fenced enclosure.  At the corner, a uniformed traffic policemen directing cars, another was watching the gate and waving the badge-branded through, and another one inside the inclosure was directing the parking of cars with curt commands and waving of hands.  There already were hundreds of cars parked in long strait rows.

On top of a small building was a sigh reading, "Employment Office."  Another small sigh read: "Safety First.  We hire only careful, conscientious workers.  Others need not apply."  Near what appeared to be a makeshift office window was another sigh; "No help wanted today."  The blinds were still down.  Before the building, as close as they could stand, were men.. men watching, waiting, hoping; men wanting work.

What a motley group of men!  Here could be found much more variety than a casual observer would see in a band of sheep, although every sheep was an individual to Dan.  Here were men from all walks of life: dam laborers, farmers, miners, preachers, ex-convicts, ex-bootleggers and bootleggers, big men and little men, old men and young men, all in the line of the unemployed.  "Why do they come here?" Dan wondered.  "They must be failures, misfits, down-and-outers.  They must be pretty low down, or they wouldn't want to put in their time working on such a job, such a fool's errand.  They must be in search of the almighty dollar.  It surely isn't work they expect to enjoy.  Surely they aren't just aching to build for posterity or to build a monument."

"Come on, Dan, let's go on farther.  We can't see what's really going on from here."

"All right, but this is pretty interesting."

"What did you say, Dan?"

Dan repeated, and Bill, with his hand cupped to his ear, understood.  "No, no, they won't let us in, and if we sneak in they'll kick us out."

Just then there was a commotion near the office window.  Men were shuffling forward and crowding in on a platform before the window.

"Yes," one said, "he's in there.  Look, smoke's coming from the chimney."

"I believe he's going to open up." said another.

"I hear him walking around." from a third.

The blinds were opened.  From a perch on the banister of the platform, Dan could see inside the room.  A man sat at a desk on which were many boxes of filing cards.  A table and stove completed the furniture.  The man, the employment agent, was busy with some writing and seemed not to see or recognize any of the dozens of men that competed for his attention.  Some of the men were tapping on the window and others were rattling the door knob to attract him.  It was plain to see that he was irritated, and that they were not gaining anything by their sly noises.

Finally, he finished his writing and then reached over and grudgingly raised the window a scant six inches.  The men crowded forward, trying to get in a word or at least catch sight of the man who could do so much for them.  This man, brought into the world just like themselves, could, if he would, give some of them a chance to work and live.

Here were men who had crossed the continent on the strength of their hopes.  They had heard it was a big job, and where there is work there is always a chance.  Many had not had a decent meal for days or weeks.  They had bummed, or begged, or even stolen more than rides, to get here where they might find work.  Many had driven worn-out jalopies, stealing or begging gas from once city to move on to the next.  They were tired, hungry and desperate.  They must have work.  Their means were exhausted, and they must have work right now.  Some few had suffered so many hardships they were nearly demented and were the butt of the jokes of those a little more fortunate.  Such is man!

The lad who had been rapping on the window eagerly asked for an application blank.  Others crowded forward and wanted one too.  Another got in a word and asked if there might be a chance to get on today; he must have work and have it at once.  But the agent said that he had no orders so far.  A cloud passed over the faces of the crowd.  Some started home, or to camp, or up the road.

What was the use!  No jobs at all, and two hundred men ready to grab them if there were.  No chance! No chance! But some were wiser.  They were going to stick around.

"That sign don't mean anything" said a tall lean Swede.  "He said the same thing last Tuesday, and I went home and heard afterwards that he put on forty-three men a half-hour later.  I'm going to stay."

"Aw shucks! What's the use?" said the door-knob-rattler.  "I've been rattling around here every morning and some of the afternoons for a month.  He wouldn't put me on if they needed a hundred men and only me in sight.  Bit I like to bother him anyway."

The crowd that stayed gradually relaxed and sat or sprawled about, telling stories of their experiences on many and various jobs.  Two or three wits and wags became centers of attraction and held the bigger part of the crowd grouped about them listening to comical or smutty stories.  The entertainers, feeling their importance, did themselves proud, glad to get a rough laugh from the downhearted unemployed.

Dan, decided to stay no longer to watch those queer, stray, black sheep, sauntered nonchalantly through the gate.  The guard was not in sight.  Dan had passed only a few paces beyond the gate when the guard stepped out from the small shack where he had been to take a drink and a snack from his lunch box.  With his mouth still crammed, he yelled, "Here, you! Where're you going?  Where's your badge?"

Dan lamely replied, "I was going to look over the works."

"No you don; only the employed allowed inside."

Crestfallen, Dan walked away to where Bill was waiting.  He mumbled, "I should have slugged that guy, or at least give him a piece of my mind, but he was a regular officer with a gun and a uniform, and I guess maybe he was only doing his duty.  But I always welcomed anybody when they came to see me.  Come on, let's go on up the highway and see what we can see."

"No," said Bill, "I've been gettin' up my courage to try to talk to this agent feller."

"What were you going to say?" asked the now smiling agent, who had overheard the loud remarks.

"Chester Evans said he would get me a job carrying water, and I'm here and want to see him.  Where is he?"

"I don't know, I'm sure.  I don't know him.  I didn't hire him.  Of course the bosses and old-timers are not hired through this office, anyway.  The only way for you to see him is to catch him as he comes on or goes off shirt, and if he's staying here in camp, that will be impossible."

Disappointed, the two natives strolled up the highway.  Dan was surprised at the size of the buildings, the neatness of the whole camp, the strength and height of the fence, and the carefulness with which the gates were guarded.  From his bird's- eye view he had thought it would be easy to get in and watch the workers.  He changed his mind after he had tried to walk up the railroad track and come in the back way but was soon spotted and ousted.  He was baffled.  He did not know they that there was a man in a high tower with a pair of powerful glasses, watching all approaches and in telephone connection with all guards and deputies.

Bitterly, Dan vented his feelings.  "They heard me off by range, and now they herd me back to the highway.  Perhaps I'm a dumb, driven brute, but I won't work for them on a bet now, even if I could see what was goin' on in thar.  Bill, you're out of provisions, and I can't live off of you.  Even if you do take the waterboy job, you won't earn enough for both of us.  We must do something, but what?"

"Come right on with me, Dan, the grub ain't all gone yet.  Don't worry, while I have a crumb half of it's yours."

They decided to break off their sight-seeing tour and return to Bill's shack to rest and eat.  On their return, however, they went somewhat our of their way to pass through the new town of Power City.  It was booming.  The sale over, many people had hauled lumber and started their homes.  There were about twenty houses under construction, half of them more or less completed.

Dan thought: If I were a carpenter there might be an opening for me here.  But he knew that he was a farmer and stockman, awkward and unskilled in the user of building tools.  How he would hate to expose his clumsiness and ignorance in such things and be discharged in disgrace.

After reaching home and having a meager dinner and supper in one meal, Dan and Bill carried their chairs outside and sat in the shade of the shack, facing the dam, where they listened and watched the dam-builders.

Finally, the day shift was over, and another procession was driving toward the enclosure with their tools and equipment.  They started work where the others left off; that way no time was lost.

The whistle blew and men by the hundreds could be seen pouring out to the parking lots and to the camps.  About half of the complete crew lived in the camp, and the rest began streaming down the valley in their cars.

The procession was about over, and they were just going inside when they saw a car approaching up the grade.  It turned in at Bill's gate, stopped, and Chet Evans got out.  "Well, boys," he greeted them, "I have more good news.  I went to see the boss today and told him about you native sons and your troubles.  He was glad to help out.  He gave me these slips of paper for you.  If you present them at the employment office, you'll be given work.  The pay isn't much, but fifty cents an hour counts up, and you'll soon be prosperous and forget your financial difficulties.  You can pay me for the taxes when you get ready; then you'll be under no obligation to me whatsoever.  Bill Evans, here is yours.  You can be you new water boy tomorrow."

"Thank you!  Oh, thank you ever so much!  You're my guardian angle.  You've saved my property, and now you put me in a position to carry on and pay up my taxes.  In a few more years I know the increase in my land values will make me a wealthy man.  My dream is coming true.  Thanks to you some day I can buy me a diamond ring, a walking cain, and a monocle.  I'll retire to a high-class hotel, and I wont have to live on my own cooking.  It's a wonder it hasn't killed me before this.  Dan, what's the matter with you?  You act like you had a sourdough biscuit crossways in you.  Come on, cant you thank the man for what he has done for you?"

"Oh, that's all right" said Chet.  "I understand Dan is sore at me because I once promised to get him the head boss's position.  I know it must be a disappointment.  He had so much confidence in the outcome of this job.  Really, I did tell the boss all about you.  He asked how much experience you had had.  I told him I didn't know but thought he had better put you on as a laborer at first.  Then if you were willing and efficient you might be promoted speedily."

Dan doubled his slip and tore it to bits.  "That's what I think of your slips, your job, and your damned exclusive dam.  Do you think I'd work and let you collect my pay?  Did I tell you to throw money away on that worthless land?  No sirree! Nothing doing!"

"I didn't mean it that way.  You don't have to repay me until you get ready.  In fact, I'll be ahead if you never do.  I figure the land is worth real money... thousands, perhaps millions..  and I have the best lien on it for a few paltry pay checks.  Well, so long, boys, I'll see you tomorrow on the job.  Dan, maybe I can get you another slip."

"No, nothing doing, don't bother yourself" said Dan as Chet drove away.

Bill looked amazed.  "Dan, you sure act like a fish:, he said.  "Now why on earth did you want to treat Chet like that?"

"Oh, he needn't be so almighty with me.  Thinks ye runs it all and is in a position to hand out a slip and get a feller a job.  He can go hang."

Bill was up early, got breakfast, filled up a lunch pail, and then called Dan.  Bill was all aflutter.  He was afraid he would be late.  He realized he was getting a good job and aimed to take good care of it.  Fifty cents an hour for carrying water.  That seemed like a real salary.  Farmers never had paid that much for his labor, even in war times.

Long before the procession of cars had started, Bill stepped forth with his dinner pail on his arm and his head held high.  He had a job.  He wasn't too old to work.  He would show the world something yet.

Dan, doleful and gloomy, with nothing else to do, grumbled about being awakened so early, but grudgingly followed Bill to the employment office.  The crowd around the office was not so large early in the morning, but they were arriving fast, walking or hitchhiking for the most part, since many had no money for gasoline.  Bill was very nervous; the whistle had blown and he was still on the outside.

As soon as the office window opened, Bill pushed forward, holding high his slip.  The men, understanding, made way for him.  The agent scanned his slip and told him to come inside.  He asked Bill a few questions.

"Where do you live?"

"Rock Island Precinct."

"How long have you lived in th state?"

"Sixty years."

"How old are you?  I didn't suppose you were that old."

"I'll be seventy-one in September."

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Dependents?"

"No."

"Who should we notify in case of accident?"

"What?" asked the old man, forgetting and cupping his hand to his ear, thus exposing his deafness.  He was sorry and ashamed to have had to ask a question.  The agent repeated.

The old man scratched his head.  "Oh, don't bother," he said, "undertakers are too expensive."

When Bill was called inside, a lot of comment was caused among the disappointed.  

"I wonder where he got that slip of paper?"

"I wish I had one."

"I'll bet he's got a pull with the boss."

"He probably has thirteen kids and all of them eating off the county."

"I hear you have to be destitute and have a slip from the American Legion, county or Red Cross."

"Well, he looked like he needed it."

"He looked like he was ready for the poor farm rather than a job."

"What can a little old dried-up sand toad like him do?"

"Why don't they hire able-bodied young men?" spoke up a young husky.

"Well, now he and his family can eat:, replied another.

"Huh? Family?  I know that old codger.  He's an old sourdough bachelor."

"What?  What's that?  Are they hiring bachelors and not us men with families?  What are we coming to?  It's up to us married men to see about that."

"Revolution, that what, if there isn't a change."

As almost anything started an argument, they ranted on in the open forum before the employment office.

Suddenly, there was another stir, a rush and scurry to be near the window.  The agent had come to the window and was asking, "Is there a tinsmith in the crowd?"

The word was passed along: Wanted, a tinsmith.  Here was a job going begging.

There wasn't a tinsmith in the crowd, but several men moved forward.

The first approached the window and glibly lied, "Sure, I'm a tinsmith.  I can do anything, but I haven't any tools."

"I believe I can fill the bill," said another, "I saw a man working with tin once, and I remember how he done it."

Another spoke up, "I'll take the job.  My grandfather was a tinsmith, and I inherited all his skill."

Dan watched and listened to all this with considerable interest.  He wished that he were on the inside with Bill, but he would not be let, or driven, or advised, or worked by that college punk engineer.  He would fill out an application blank on his own hook.  He worked his way to the window again.

Perhaps the agent was not very busy; perhaps he was drawn by something in Dan's appearance.. possibly he was just amiable for the moment.  He gave Dan his attention, and at the request of an application took the pad and began asking Dan the questions and filling it out.

"Married?" he asked.

"Yes and no, I don't know" mumbled Dan.

"How many dependents?"

"What?" asked Dan.

"Have you a wife and how many children?"

"Who wants to know?" Dan snapped.

"The company wants to know."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't know.  I guess not, now, at least.. for which I"m thankful, since I can't make a living for myself."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I suppose you know how it is, we have to give men with families the preference.  Of course, you being a native and acclimated makes it possible that if it gets too hot, and the men can't stand the hard labor of building grade and laying track, they might use you.  You might show up occasionally, we never can tell what may turn up."

That evening Bill Evans, or "Dad".. as the men he watered affectionately called him.. returned home proud as punch with his badge on his hat.  "Four dollars earned" he bragged.  "It was so easy.  There's quite a bit of walking over the rocks, but I enjoy even that, for I get to move around from place to place and see the whole works.  They sure know their business.  Everything moves like clockwork.  They're getting the cofferdam almost across.  The water is terribly swift, and even though the cribs are moored with strong cables, they pitch and toss like corks until they're weighted.  I don't see how the men stick on.  They have ropes around their waists, so in case they fall off they can get back."

The next day Chet again came to Dan and offered to get him another slip.  He also told him that part of the cofferdam was about completed, and they would waterproof it with clay and Russian thistles.  It would take tons of thistles.  He remembered seeing huge piles in the draws and along the remnants of Dan's fences.  Perhaps Dan could get the contract of supplying and hauling the weeds.

Dan laughed.  "That would be some job, hauling them old stickery weeds around.  People would sure think I was locoed.  The idea of using weeds to dam the Columbia.

Chet said, "They'll use them for sure, and a lot of them, too, and furthermore, the fellow that gathers them will probably do pretty well.  I wanted to put you next, especially as the nearest weeds already grow on your land."

"Well, let someone else hop to it.  I don't want anything to do with such a fool proposition.  The weeds are yours" Dan said.  "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink."

A few days later trucks and men were busy loading, hauling and dumping the sticky, heretofore worthless weeds at the works.  Chet contracted to furnish the weeds, and for his foresight made a tidy sum.

He already had his money back.  The land owed him nothing.  Where there is vision and a will there is always a way.  Chet wished that Dan would snap out of it, but decided he could do nothing for him but leave him to himself and time to work out his own salvation.

For many days, now, Dan haunted the employment agency.  He liked the contact with so many men of all kinds, from all parts of the globe, with all kinds of experience in all kinds of work.  Many a tall story he listened to that lost nothing in the telling.

It was growing terribly hot.  Transients were seeking shade and cooler climates.  At last his chance came; he finally got his job on his own hook.  The employment agent got a call for ten laborers for railroad work.  He peered out of his window and sized up the crowd.

"Here, you," he said, pointing to Dan, "come in, I can put you on."  He again asked questions and filled out a card "Take that and go to the doctor's office for inspection."

Dan found his way to the doctor's office.  He had to wait his turn.

The doctor was bandaging a man with a scalp wound, caused by a falling piece of steel.  Next came some smashed fingers.  Then a man came in with a nail wound in his foot.  They were all minor accidents, but all received prompt and careful treatment, and the men were instructed to return again and have their wounds dressed.

At last the room emptied, and the kindly English doctor told Dan to come in and strip to the waist.  He looked, listened, and counted.  Then he had him strip farther down; looked, felt, punched, prodded, had him open his mouth and say, "Ah.".  Without a word he wrote "O.K." on his card and sent him to the time-office window.  There Dan left his card and received a timecard and his badge.  Then he became an abstraction, known only as number 2683.

The time office was a long, rambling building between the camps and the job.  There were six timekeepers on duty.  One of them explained the card to Dan, took him to the time clock, and showed him how to punch it and drop the card in the slot.  It was all new to Dan.  He had hired many men in his better days.  He had got plenty of work out of them, too, without all this trouble of inspection, time clocks and red tape.  The rest of the ten men were arriving, and they were told to wait.  Then the railroad boss came and placed them, two at a time, in different section gangs.

Dan wished he hadn't spent all of his life on the farm, for now he didn't know how to do anything, not even unskilled labor.  Everyone was supposed to know how to use a pick and shovel, but after a few hours he began to wonder if he could stand the work.  He found that there were tricks in all trades, even in using a pick and shovel, and handling ties and rails.

The rest of the crew were accustomed to working together and knew what to do and how to do it.  But poor, awkward Dan didn't know how to handle his tools.  He worked twice as hard to do half as much and knew that the others were probably winking and chuckling to themselves as his clumsy efforts.  But he'd stay if it killed him.  He'd show them.  Those Greeks and wops couldn't laugh at him and get away with it.  Him, a native son and pioneer working with what he called the scum of the earth.  A few years ago, who would have thought he would ever come to this?

His father had told him as a boy that that kind of work was for cheap, ignorant Chinese or other foreign labor.  And here he was, poor white trash, working with them and not able to keep his end up.  Laughed at! My, but it was hot!  Where was the water boy?  How he was sweating!  The perspiration got into his eyes and blinded him, but still he staggered on.  Would night never come?  Those first few days he burned, and parched, and suffered a living death.  His feet became sore, and the palms of his hands were almost one continuous blister from unaccustomed usage.  But still he held on.  Blisters became calluses.  Fat and soft tissues were being tempered as in a fiery furnace.  His sinews became like steel.  He learned to work in unison with the rest of the crew, and to honor and respect the Greek and wop for what they were... faithful, hardworking machines.  The pot no longer called the kettle black.

As Dan worked and toiled and perspired in this new life, a change was gradually taking place in him.  He was sweating out some of the venom in his system put there by the bite of his losses, disappointments, and discouragements.  He was working hard, sleeping well, and earning his way.  His mind was more at rest that it had been for years.  What a soothing and healing effect his first pay check had on him.  He was his own man now, not a banker's slave.  Forty-eight dollars of good, comforting money.  That was more money than he had had for his very own for several years.

He could pay Bill Evans now for his keep and from now on pay his way.  He was independent and foot-loose and free again, with a few hard silver dollars clicking contentment in his pockets.  His future was no longer mortgaged.  He was now getting some of the dam money that Uncle Sam was squandering.  He might as well be digging into Uncle Sam's pockets as anybody.

He tried hard to earn his pay.  Too bad that it was a fool's errand and all of the effort would eventually go for naught.  There was talk of other dams to be built soon, and he decided he would become a dam-maniac himself; it would give him a chance to live and see the world.  Dan was still a road builder, a common section laborer, but he was becoming ambitious.  There were other jobs that paid almost twice as much and they didn't look half as hard.  Dan thought he might as well learn some of them, get promoted, and work up.

He and Bill were able to buy plenty of good provisions now, but their housework was becoming a burden.  They also had quite a walk to and from work, since they didn't feel flush enough to buy a car, not even an old Ford.  They didn't want to splurge.

Chet was very busy with his work and saw little of Dan, but he was glad to hear indirectly that Old Doleful was working.  He was told that he was not quite so bitter or melancholy.

He occasionally saw good old Bill on the water route.  Bill was a favorite of all the men.  He was faithful to his job and made the rounds regularly as clock work, with a cheerful not, a clean pail, and a dipper of cool, fresh water.  Some of the more careless water boys filled their buckets with tepid, roily water from the river when no one was looking, instead of making the longer trip for drinking water.  In addition, they never washed their dippers and buckets, so that they found little favor with the men.

John Clark got a job as water carrier as soon as school was out.  However, he was not old enough to realize the importance of his job.  He liked to watch the machinery.  He talked to the older men, especially those working in some shade or shed out of sight of the bosses.  Much of his time he spent in the large portable toilets, visiting with the comers and goers.  It was there many of the men sneaked for a smoke or a visit, with one eye peeled for bosses or checkers.  Here they whiled away their time drawing lewd pictures, reading and writing smutty jingles, or talking radical propaganda.

The checker made the rounds regularly, book and pencil in hand, checking all men and numbers in his book, locating every man, boss, and straw boss, seeing that they were working at the job to which they had been assigned.  Each man hesitated a moment, displayed his badge or cried out his number, and proceeded with his work.

The water boys were the mail carriers of news, gossip and rumor.  As they went from group to group they reported accidents and deaths, and quoted the hospital reports of the recovery of the sick and the maimed.  In fact, all of them... except for the young boys or extremely old men... were poor fellows just recovering from an accident or just back on the job as convalescents.  They either hobbled about, or with a bandaged hand minus some fingers, or an arm in a sling did their best to make up for lost time and money... glad to continue to support their families or dependents.

The long, hot days of summer were over.  autumn was approaching.  As Chet made his daily twelve-mile trip to work, he noted that the apples were hanging large, heavy, and red on the propped-up, overburdened branches.  He had never seen such fruit.  The apricots, peaches, and pears were also exceptionally large and luscious.  The more he thought about it the more he decided to settle down, to quit the life of a civil engineer.

Yes, he would settle here, take root, and grow up with the country.  It had the location, the climate, the cheap power.  It was the land of opportunity.  Chet remembered the refrain of a Poem he favored.  It's name was "Opportunity"...

They do me wrong who say I come no more
When once I knock and fail to find you in;
For every day I stand outside your door
And bid you wake and rise and fight and win.
Wail not for precious chances passed away;
Weep not for golden ages on the wane.
Each night I burn the records of the day;
At sunrise every soul is born again.

He had had this framed and hung it among other helpful mottoes on the wall of his room.

How the town of Power City was growing!  It was almost a complete town now, with groceries, meat markets, garages, shoe shops, bakeries, barber shops, pool halls, card tables, reputable, though unrestricted.  There were three auto camps, all full and bringing in good revenue.

There were probably a hundred homes now, and more were being started every day.  Rents were high, but Chet had been considering locating nearer the job; he hated to think of winter driving when the roads got slick.  The road was rather narrow and crooked, in general following the bends of the winding river.  It had not been made to accommodate such processions of cars as were using it six times a day, and there was no opportunity to widen it or make much improvement when it was being used so much.

Collisions and upsets happened almost every day, and there already had been a few deaths.  One poor carpenter, who had been caring for a large family of motherless children, was struck as he was turning into his gate.  His car was overturned.  The hit-and-run driver sped on, leaving the poor carpenter with his neck pinned under the running board of his car.  He was choked to death.

Chet happened along in time to be one of the group that stopped and lifted the car off the neck of the lifeless form.  Too bad, the comment ran, if he had to die why couldn't he have "gotten his" on the job; then there would have been money from the industrial insurance.  They started a fund to which many contributed gladly, and he was properly laid away.

Chet decided he would no longer make the regular trip.  He would locate nearer.  He did not care for the bunkhouse, mess hall, or the camp life.  He had seen too much of it in past years, so he would look for a home in Rock Island.  Tent Town... called Ragtown by some... was nearer, but it looked too cold... comfortless, and makeshift to interest him as a winter home, though he supposed many would winter in such cheap, cheerless, hopeless huts of canvas, rags, and rough boards.  If he could rent a house and get a few congenial workers together they could "bach" or even hire a housekeeper.  He would even like to room with a good private family.  But he found difficulty in locating families that were looking for boarders.  The town was too new, crowded, and unsettled as yet.

Things were not going very well at the dam site.  The river was still high and raging.  Men and man-made machinery were struggling with might and main to span the turbulent river rapids and complete the cofferdam.  It was beginning to look as if it could not be done.

Every precaution was taken to protect life, yet men fell off the rocking crib and disappeared.  One of these was a lad whom Dan had known.  As he fell the crew had one last glance at his terror-stricken face... then gone forever.  It was a great shock to Dan.  To sacrifice life on such a fool business was going too far.

He swore that anyone who would work on the cofferdam was a damned fool and wanted to commit suicide.  The pay was good, but the risk was too great.  He wouldn't take those chances for a thousand dollars a day.  The job should be stopped.  There should be a law against working men under such conditions.  Others also talked thus and feeling ran high.  Pressure was brought to bear on the company, and they had to discontinue the job until they had provided wire netting.

The netting was placed; there were life guards, life savers, and row boats available at all times.  Yet the chances were still to great.  Men were becoming afraid of the job.  No, they were going to fail.  It couldn't be done.  Dan... anybody with any sense.... had known it all along.  Cables as large as a man's arm, that held the sections of cofferdam in place, snapped like string, and thousands of dollars' worth of material and labor floated away down over the rapids.

"No, it can't be don" Dan crowed.  "And they'll know enough to give it up eventually.  Crazy ants, trying to stop a torrent with shaky weeds... to stem the rapids with straws.  Bah!  What foolishness."